Never Alone
by alphadine
Summary: A strange case makes Temperance Brennan muse about the way she lives on her own and if this is really the right thing for her.
1. The Case

**A/N: Here I go, entering new territory**. **This is my first _real_ release in English ("51 Ghosts" had been just a kind of "test-drive") and I want to thank my wonderful beta _Monisse _for her help and advise: Couldn't have done it without you!_  
_**

**_Disclaimer: _As anyone here I'd like to own Bones but I don't. What a pitty!**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

1. The Case

Bent over the examination table on the platform, in the middle of the Medico-Lab, Dr. Temperance Brennan looked at human remains.

Because of a flu-epidemic the D.C. coroners-department was under-staffed and they'd sent a request to the Jeffersonian-Institute to accommodate them. Thinking that it might be helpful to have them and to return a favor, Dr. Saroyan had answered affirmatively.

That's why Brennan was now examining a 'normal' unclear case of death that didn't went over the FBI desks first.

Some steps behind her, her partner Seeley Booth sat on a stool waiting slightly impatient for her to come to a conclusion.

He had come over to get her out of the lab for lunch, but she had wanted to finish the examination first and refused. Curious, for what she might find and because he hadn't had much work to do either, he stayed. Now, he waited for her to finish so he could, hopefully, have something to eat before he would starve to death (and become another case on her table).

He was rustling mechanically through some papers that lay on a desk while humming something completely out of tune.

Brennan frowned a little and tried to keep her voice as calm as possible when she spoke to him. "Stop that, Booth!" She said while turning into his direction.

Flashing a smile in her direction he feigned complete innocence. "Solved the case yet?"

"No, I haven't, and I won't do so anytime soon if you keep fidgeting around like an impatient child."

His smile widened into a grin.

"Am I making you nervous, Bones?" He asked her with his voice low.

Biting back a harsh answer, she just let out a snort and turned back to the remains. "I'm just trying to focus here, and your rustling is quite distractive."

Brennan knew that it wasn't the whole truth. In fact, she had worked on even more complicated cases in much more distracting situations. It wasn't his presence that distracted her. Considering the time he was around her nearly every day, she has gotten used to his presence. Gotten used to him so much that, truth to be told, she missed something if he wasn't around.

It was more the tingling sensation of his breath in her neck or the warmth radiating from him when he stood up from time to time, stepping right behind her and looked over her shoulder to see what she was 'squinting' at. Like he did right now.

He was a handsome and charming man and being attracted to him would be an absolutely normal reaction to any woman who had eyes to see. Even if Brennan wasn't like _any _woman, she _had _eyes to see, and she had to admit to herself that she liked what she saw. Unfortunately, feeling attracted to her partner was not a part of her assignment with the FBI.

Despite her intentions to stay calm around him, Brennan felt her pulse quickening and she turned her face away from him as she tried to hide her blush. She wouldn't feed his excessive self-confidence with her blush. No way.

Masking her embarrassment with annoyance, she turned back to him again and sent him an evil glare.

"Why don't you just go down to my office and wait there? Or even better, why don't you go and wait in _**your own **_office and I'll call you as soon as I'll find out if this is something to pass over to the FBI?" She growled.

Booth chuckled.

"And missing all the action? Nah, Bones, you should know me better. I'm staying right here with you. Protecting you from any harm that might come up and threatens you or keeps you away from your important work. "

She rolled her eyes at his solemn declaration.

"What kind of harm should threaten me here, on this platform? These are only bones." She pointed at the remains on the table. "The only thing that is keeping me away from my 'oh so important' work right now is _**you!**_"

Pretending to be in pain, Booth pressed a palm to his chest

"Ouch Bones, that hurts." He said taking a step back. Then he cocked his head still grinning. "But what if the ghost of this guy on your table gets onto you because you're poking in his remains, huh?"

He knew that he was absurd but waiting there for what it felt like an eternity made him bored, and bantering with her was always helpful against boredom. Even though he was sure she wouldn't appreciate it.

He was right. Brennan sent him another death glare.

"First: there are no such things as ghosts," She pointed out. "And I'm quite sure that fighting ghosts – _**if **_they _**would **_exist – wasn't part of your FBI training."

"I'm a self-educated person. I'm quite good at these things." He threw in and despite her former intention to be mad at him because he disturbed her focus; she had to stifle a grin.

'He always has that effect on me.' She mused. Every time she was mad at him he just did something silly or funny that would make her laugh or at least smile and her anger vanished.

"Good at fighting ghosts?" She smiled now and lifted a brow in disbelief.

"Knowing me for years now, Bones, and I'm still able to surprise you." He laughed and Brennan couldn't help but joining in.

"I don't think that _**any**_ ghost will haunt me, but thanks for your offer." Still chuckling she pointed at the remains on the table again. "I'm sorry that I have to let some air out of your over sized ego, but that _**guy **_on the table is _**female**_. Approximately 60 to 70 years old. There are signs of osteoporosis and malnutrition. Also, there's a blunt trauma on the back of her parietal bone, but the autopsy results said that the cause of death was a fatal heart attack."

Booth crossed his arms in his chest and sent Brennan a glare. "You're lucky I'm letting you get away with that _over sized ego_ comment. But why didn't you tell me already about the autopsy results?" He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Why is she here at all? I don't think that this is murder. Old lady, heart-attack, the head trauma might be caused by the fall and, no offense, but I don't think that this is a case for the FBI to be involved."

"Her body was found in a dumpster. No papers or other details for her identity. So, the least thing we could do is find out her name." Brennan answered slightly surprised about his quick assumptions. For her, there were still some unsolved details about the death of the old woman.

"A dumpster?" Booth asked dumbfounded. "The old lady got a heart attack and somebody disposed her body in a garbage container? How sick is that? Did her family wanted to save the costs for a funeral?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Do we have a match with the dental records yet?"

"You should stop speculating about the circumstances of her death until we have collected and assessed _all _evidences. You're jumping from one conclusion to another." Brennan declared. "And no, we don't have any dental records because she hadn't had a single tooth in her mouth, but during the autopsy, Cam found marks on her gums which indicate that she might have worn bad fitting dentures."

"Did the forensics found her dentures in the dumpster?"

"No, they put the whole thing upside down but found none."

"Bones, if you were an old lady with dentures, would you leave your home without them?"

Brennan lifted a brow. "In consideration of the fact that I'm taking good care of my health and my teeth, I don't think that I'll need to wear dentures when I reach that age."

Booth rolled his eyes. "Just imagine, please!"

She lightly shook her head in answering to his question. "No, I don't think I would go out without them. But then, she had marks on her gums, so I assume that the dentures might have caused her pain and so she might have avoided wearing them."

"So, the missing dentures are not going to bring us any further." Booth muttered when the beeping of someone scanning in for the platform caught their attention.

"Well, maybe I can help you." Angela entered the platform, her sketchbook in hands. "Hi, Booth." She smiled at the agent who returned that smile

"Hello, Angela. Do you have a face?"

"Sure I have one, and some say it's quite appealing." She answered with a twinkle before she became serious again and showed them the sketch she had made. "That's her. I took the liberty to send a copy over to your office. They got a match right away and sent back what they have found. Her name was Beverly Moyer. No permanent address, she was living on the streets."

Booth looked at Angela.

"Hey, seems like I'm quite dispensable here." He pouted, "Angela is doing my work and Bones doesn't inform me about autopsy results anymore. So, what do you need me for here anyway?"

Angela sent him a mischievous smile. "To give us something to look at, handsome? It's truly undeniable that you are way more attractive than the guys who are usually lying on these tables here." She smirked and Booth suppressed a smile.

"Just some_**thing**_to look at, huh? You know that this is really sexist and discriminating? You're diminishing me to my looks and you're ignoring my outstanding abilities as an investigator! You know I could sue you for sexual harassment?" He playfully threatened her and only got an unimpressed shrug from the artist as she answered still grinning:

"You won't! You're much too flattered that I've called you 'attractive'."

"Homeless." Brennan pointed out ignoring their banter. "That explains her state of undernourishment and why she was there at the dumpster."

"She was looking for something to eat." Angela's voice became sad. "How desperate does anybody have to be to look for food in other people's garbage?"

"I think that she was digging the dumpster for something to eat or anything else that could be useful. Holding the top with one hand and digging with the other. Somehow she lost her balance and fell into the container and the top closed. She cracked her head when she was trying to get out. That would explain the trauma on her skull. She might have panicked, which could have caused the fatal heart attack with her poor health." Brennan recapitulated.

Angela shook her head sadly. "What a gruesome way to die." She said quietly.

"What a sad way to live." Brennan replied thoughtfully.

Booth nodded in agreement and cleared his throat before he asked "So, who had reported her missing? Did she have any relatives?"

-.-.-.-.-.-


	2. Musing

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Bones. **

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_**2. Musing**_

Later that evening, Brennan sat at her desk in her apartment, trying to write a chapter for her upcoming novel, but she couldn't seem to focus on the story.

She wasn't able to get the case of the homeless Beverly Moyer out of her mind.

It had shown during further investigations that Beverly Moyer hadn't had any family and was only reported missing because someone at a shelter for homeless hadn't seen her for a long time. That person started to ask around to find out, that no one knew about her whereabouts nor had seen her for days.

Temperance Brennan was surprised how much the case absorbed her emotionally, even after she had finished with her work. Usually, she kept private and job-related things strictly separate. In case she should describe it, she would probably use data-files to picture it, one for her private emotions and another for what kept her occupied during the investigation of a case.

The only occasion she would open them both at the same time was when she was writing her books. But the 'ghost' of this homeless woman seemed to be like a computer-virus that was intruding her 'mental files' and linking them. The chaos this intrusion caused expressed itself in an untypical outburst of self-pity which, in addition, disturbed Brennan even more.

She must have felt very lonely, Brennan thought. A feeling she was familiar with. Thinking back on her first time in the Foster system, just after her parents' disappearance, she could still feel the sting of loneliness she felt then. Sure, she grew over it through the years and became stronger and more independent that way, but the memory of that time was still present. She also realized during those years that she'd better not rely on anyone but herself.

Working with Booth for almost four years now had shifted that attitude a bit and she knew now, that she could rely on Booth too. But if there'd be a situation where she would be forced to make a quick decision about whom she could depend on, she herself would always be the first choice. Booth would be very close behind, she assured herself.

Brennan got up and went to her kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. Filling a glass, she thought about the past day at the lab. She took a sip and returned to her desk.

On her computer screen the cursor was still blinking reproachful on an empty file. With Beverly Moyer still on her mind she wouldn't be able to write down anything sensible today. Shutting down her computer, she let out a deep sigh.

Being alone hadn't been a problem for her after she became independent, with no need to account for anything, but now, she was thinking that her _over sized _sense of independence might be **one** or maybe even _**the **_reason that she felt alone sometimes and that she might end up like Beverly Moyer, alone with no family or friends. This thought sent a shiver up her spine and she tried to calm it down with another sip of wine.

Most of the times she rejected offers from Angela to accompany her, when the artist got an invitation to a party or tickets for a Sunday matinee, pretending that she still had work to do or not to be the sociable type. Well, she honestly wasn't **that** sociable, but she **was** able to adapt if she **wanted** to.

And Booth? He mostly came over uninvited. Not that she would mind, but it was a fact that he had visited her more often than vice versa. She emptied her glass of wine and went again to her kitchen.

'_What if they would stop their invitations and visits someday? Because no one wanted to give and give when they got nothing in return._' She thought anxiously. What was she giving them back? Most of the times they were got rejections._ '__If I keep going on that way_,´ Brennan thought, '_I really might end up alone._'

She filled up her glass again, then took the bottle with her, placed it on the coffee table and flopped down on her couch. After she nestled herself up against the cushions she continued her musing.

Recalling her bantering with Booth that day at the lab, she remembered saying to him that** no ghost **would ever haunt her. Now, she had to admit that the ghost of the homeless lady did. Well, not literally. Booth was wrong when he affirmed that she took **everything** literally.

'_But it's fun to see him rolling his eyes in desperation when I make him think that I do._' Brennan thought.

Beverly Moyer's lonely life and death made her reflect on her own way of living. Being alone might be nice sometimes after a long day at the lab or after a promotion tour through several states after a book release, but she had to admit to herself that most of the times it didn't. Like now.

The silence in her apartment was nearly unbearable. The rustling of her cushions when she moved on her couch and the muted sound of cars passing by her block were the only sounds. She took her glass with her as she went towards the stereo. Maybe some music would help to soothe her whirling thoughts. She searched through her CD's but nothing suited her current mood.

'_Didn't Booth say that he's able to make ghosts disappear earlier on? Maybe I should call him and ask him to chase Beverly Moyer's ghost away.'_ She thought after emptying her glass once more. Pouring down the wine that was making her feel dizzy fast, she decided to slow down a bit.

She sat down on the floor and continued the absent-minded search through the CD-rack.

Even in her tipsy condition she realized that such a request might sound very silly out of **her** mouth.

'_I, the rational logical thinking anthropologist, asking him, the FBI agent who probably got his ghost-chasing skills from watching "__Ghostbusters__" several times, to chase away ghosts that I'd affirmed I wouldn't believe in. He would laugh his ass off, for sure.'_

She snorted at her own foolishness and poured herself a third glass of wine.

No way would she ask him. Looking at her glass she thought: 'Forget about slowing down!_'_ and emptied half of it.

She was just about to sit back down again when a box with old vinyl-records caught her eye.

Her brother had left the box behind when he went away to find a job and had left Temperance behind to the foster care. Even though she had thought of it as a kind of betrayal, she had kept his records. They'd been the only thing with at least some little value – not to mention the emotional one – she'd owned in those years. She squatted on her heels in front of the box and started searching for a certain record. A little smile spread on her face when she found what she'd been looking for. She'd tried to coax her brother towards giving that record to her when she'd been a little girl, but had always failed.

Now, she placed the record on the turntable, started the record-player and balanced the pick-up over the chosen song.

Her smile grew wider, while the first notes of 'Man on the corner' by Genesis filled her living-room.

"_See the lonely man there on the corner  
What he's waiting for, I don't know  
But he waits every day now  
He's just waiting for something to show."_

The smile changed into a musing expression again. What exactly was she been waiting for?

Brennan never thought of herself as someone who needed to be _saved_ by knights or a prince. She never had problems to find someone to keep her company, even in bed, but lately those kinds of _relationships _felt somehow trivial and unsatisfying.

Maybe, she should simply try her luck, call Booth and tell him that she felt alone and just wanted to talk with someone. Then again, he might pour out all of that over-protective alpha-maleness over her and that wasn't what she looked for tonight. She didn't want someone to comfort her just someone who would keep her company. Didn't she?

Probably Angela would be the better choice to ask. Angela was someone who could simply listen without judging. Something she really appreciated.

Brennan refilled her glass for the fourth time and took a long swig of it.

Could she really expect her friend to jump in every time Brennan called her?

'_But probably I've rebuffed her already too much yet…__' _Brennan thought, but thinking had become extra difficult.

The record continued playing and Phil Collins' voice interrupted her desperate try to think straight:

"_Like it or not  
You have done it this time  
And like it or not, I have enough_

_Like it or not  
There's a lot I could say  
'Cause I've got a lot on my mind.  
It won't be very long  
You're just another face  
That I once used to know  
And I gave you everything__  
But what have I got to show?_

_Like it or not  
You are out on the street.  
Like it or not  
That's where you'll stay."_

"You see, Bones? Even Collins thinks that you'll end up alone someday."She heard Booth's ironic voice in her mind.

"Why are you sticking your nose in again? It's just a question of interpretation!" She berated Booth imaginary voice in her head.

"Thinking rational isn't that easy when you just emptied a bottle of wine in a short time". Brennan pondered. But berating with an imaginary Booth was easier than musing without any result, if her attitude wouldn't let her end like Beverly Moyer. Alone, without friends....

"Great! Back to 'Start,' again." She muttered and flopped back on the couch. If the only success in chasing ghosts out of her mind would be by eliminating of a bottle of wine, she'd better call some specialist, even if he'd be just a self-proclaimed one.

Without further thought, she grabbed her cell-phone and pressed "1" on speed-dial.

-.-.-.-.-.-

_**A/N: **_**As you are reading this I have to assume that you went trough both chapter. Thank you for that!!  
So would you mind to leave a little comment?? I would really appreciate it ;)**

** The quoted lyrics are from _"Man On The Corner" _and _"Like It Or Not" _by _Genesis; _Both released on  
the album _"Abacab"_  
**


	3. Lessons in Friendship

**A/N: Thanks so much to all the people who read and commented the first chapters and to those who put it on alert or favourite. I was honestly surprised how many of you wanted to read more of it... ;) So here it is; just for you :D**  
**Many thanks to my awesome beta '_Monisse_' too, my 'savior of lost sentences' xD**

**Disclaimer: If wishes were pennies, I'd be rich and would spend the money to make 'Bones**' **mine**, **but they're not and so I can't afford it**. **That's the only reason why I don't own 'Bones'.  
**

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3. Lessons in Friendship

"Bones?" Booth answered his phone immediately. "Are you alright?"

"Sure." She said, irritated about the alarmed sub tone in his voice. "What makes you think, that I wouldn't be?" She heard him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Well, it's pretty unusual that you're calling without a reason. In fact, I've never noticed you doing _anything_ without reason."

'_Fine,' _Brennan thought, '_you show up that infrequently, that everybody expects the worst __**when**__ you finally do!' _

"Bones? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I was… hum… I… Am I disturbing you?" Her unsecure and tiny voice surprised even herself. That must have been the wine. Somehow, she wasn't acting like herself tonight.

"Disturbing me? Nonsense, Bones! Are you sure that you are okay? You're sounding a little odd. Have you been drinking?"

"No! Yes, I… Just some wine." She stammered. Not even thinking straight had become extra difficult before, but now, her tongue was disobeying as well.

On the other end of the line she heard Booth chuckle. "Some, hum? No offence, Bones, but you sound like you've had _some more_ of that wine."

Brennan tried to gain more control of her articulation. "Maybe two or three glasses." She murmured and got a disbelieving snort from Booth in response.  
"Okay, maybe I had about four." She defended herself a bit louder now, "But I am **not **drunk!"

Booth still chuckled. "And how much is left in the bottle right now?"

" None." She mumbled sheepishly and took the phone away from her ear with a frown when Booth's roaring laughter came through it.

"But have you had dinner yet?" He asked her after his laughter calmed down.

Brennan had to think a while before she had to confess: "No, I didn't found the time for it yet."

"You didn't found the time for it yet?" He echoed upset. "Dear God, Bones! – Listen, I think it is bests that I come over. I'll grab some take-out on the way. Then you can tell me personally what is bothering you so much, that you had to drop a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. I'll be with you in about 30 minutes and until then: Keep your hands off the wine!"

"There is no need for you to come over!" Brennan protested. "I'm okay. Really, I'm doing fine. And what makes you think that there might be something bothering me? I just wanted to hear your voice and…" She stopped mid-sentence.  
Did she say that last part out loud? Damned alcohol!

There was silence on the other end of the telephone line while Booth processed her unwillingly given confession.

His voice was calm and serious when he finally answered. "I'll be over in 30 minutes. And no more alcohol! Got it?"

Without giving her an opportunity to protest he ended the call.

"The bottle is empty anyway." She muttered, scowling at the phone.

Didn't she knew before, that it is simply impossible to get Booth without his "Caretaker" attitude? This seemed to be a "Booth-standard-equipment" even though she couldn't remember recognizing this over- solicitousness on his brother Jared.

"Maybe it is some kind of genetic mutation on _this_ Booth." She thought with a sigh. Probably, he would never change, but then again, did she honestly want him to change at all?

Brennan let out another sigh and sprawled on her couch. "_Just resting for a short while." _She thought and put her arm over her eyes hoping to stop that uncontrollable whirl of thoughts. After a few seconds she fell into an alcohol induced slumber.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

With the food ordered by phone and with the promise of a generous tip, Booth managed to be at Brennan's apartment in less than 20 minutes.

With the bags in hand he knocked at her door and listened for her steps. When there wasn't a response after what he thought was an adequate time, he knocked again with more force this time. Finally, there was a rumble and a suppressed curse audible from inside the apartment.

"Bones?" He called out worried about the cause of that rumble.

"Yes!" Her gruff answer came from inside. "I'm already there!"

On the other side of the door, Brennan struggled with the safety lock and the realization that an IQ higher than the average didn't prevent from fine-motor-skill-issues after having too much alcohol.  
Finally she managed the lock and opened the door to find Booth standing there with an amused grin on his face.

"Someone as clever as you should have known about the effect of alcohol on an empty stomach."

"It had never been my intention to skip dinner nor to get drunk!" She snapped, turning on her heels and left it up to Booth to close the door while she walked to the kitchen with her head up high.

"So you confess that you are drunk?" He asked her after he'd shut the door behind him. "Because – intended or not – you managed both just fine."  
Grinning, he followed her to the kitchen where she leaned on the counter and rubbed her ankle, which she had hit on a chair on her way to the door. She looked at him sullenly: "I don't confess anything."

Smiling benignly, he shook his head and went to her dining-table.

"I brought the usual. Is that okay with you?" He gestured at the bags in his hand and started to place cardboard boxes on the table.

Brennan greedily inhaled the flavor of the food he'd set on the table.  
"Okay, fine! I **do confess** that I'm hungry that's all." She sat on the table and looked at Booth as she pointed out again: "But I am **not** drunk!"

Booth stopped his doings and returned her gaze doubtfully. "Got it! You are **not **drunk." He humored her and handed her some chopsticks. "But you are pretty close."

She simply snorted, totally fixed on balancing some food on her chopsticks, which was a true challenge given her actual state of drunkenness. After she failed several times, she gave up and simply made use of her fingers.

Being consumed with sating her hunger she didn't notice Booth's gaze for a while. When she did, her hand stopped half way to her mouth and she looked up puzzled. "What?"

His lips pursed into a smile. "I was just wondering if I should have brought pizza so you could have eaten with your fingers right from the start."

Shrugging, she wiped her fingers on a napkin. "You wanted me to eat and so I ate. But it seemed that the chopsticks got something against me and I'm not in the mood for fine-motor-challenges tonight."

"Sure, it's the chopsticks' fault! You could have tried a fork; or a spoon if you are afraid of hurting yourself with the fork." He teased and dodged the rumpled paper-napkin that Brennan threw – together with a deadly glare – at him.

"I'm sure I can still handle a fork." She answered annoyed and got up to get a fork, but her unsteady steps belied her majestic tone.

Still laughing silently, Booth watched her steps, ready to catch her if she should stumble, but she managed the distance without a fall and when she returned she triumphantly held a fork in his face: "You'll see I won't hurt myself!"

Carefully, Booth removed her hand from the critical area in front of his face. "And it would be nice if you don't stab my eye too." He said dryly.

Apparently ignoring his last remark, she sat down and started eating again. She took some mouthful before looking back up at him. "I'll think about it." She said curtly before returning her attention to her food, but when Booth took a closer look, he was bewildered to recognize a small suppressed grin that made the edges of her mouth twitch.

"That's a good sign." He thought.

Brennan couldn't define whether it was the food or Booth's company. Maybe it was a combination of both, but she felt much better.

Her doubts if she deserved friends like Booth or Angela hadn't vanished completely, but these doubts – alike the ghost of Beverly Moyer – hadn't piped up that loud and vehement anymore.

At this moment she just enjoyed seeing him speechless again.

Her mischievous grin shifted into a small smile, which encouraged Booth to have another try to find out what had been bothering her that much before.

"Obviously you're feeling better. Won't you tell me what was going on?"

She put the fork aside and took a deep breath; wondering about an answer. Looking back, she found her attack of self-pity simply embarrassing.

'_Ghosts! What nonsense._' She thought. _'And friends who would let you down? Maybe, but __**not**__ Booth nor Angela! So, this is nothing you haven't dealt with and managed __**before**__! Okay, except this ghost-thing but ghosts are lacking scientific bases and belong to the "Myths- and Legend-department", anyway. So, get a grip, Brennan, because this is just ridiculous!"_

With another deep breath she tried to gather herself.

"It was nothing, Booth, but thank you for asking." She finally answered without taking his offer to unburden her heart to him. When she got up and started to collect the empty boxes from the table, he stood too and laid his hand on her forearm to stop her.

"Nothing? You emptied a whole bottle of wine and called me without any reason, because of nothing? Just like that?" He shook his head and looked her straight in the eye. "No, Bones, sorry but I don't believe you. Don't get me wrong, but the Bones I know does nothing without reason. You're not that way! So, what was wrong with you?"

Hesitantly, she met his inquiring gaze. There they were again; all her doubts reappeared and she bit her lip insecurely. '_That much about ostentatious self-assurance.' _She pondered, frustrated about her self-control letting her down this time.

"Thank you for just coming over." She mumbled, barely audible and tried to avoid his eyes again.

Booth's face displayed surprise. "That doesn't answer my question, but that was what friends are for, Bones." He answered dumbfounded.

Sheepishly, Brennan looked to the floor. "Yeah, but have I earned a friendship like that at all?? I mean what kind of friend am **I**? I always keep you and Angela at least an arm-length away from me and what have I done for **you** so far? No, I don't think that I'm a good friend." Her voice became unsteady, but this time it wasn't caused by alcohol.

Booth was horrified from the tears that started to glisten in her eyes. He took her arms and turned her to face him. With one finger under her chin he lifted her head and forced her to meet his eyes.

"What are you talking about, Bones? You **are **a good friend. You're loyal to the people you care about and I'm proud to be one of them. You would have come over immediately too if I had been calling **you, **wouldn't you?"

Brennan closed her eyes at this passionate speech, desperately trying to hold back the tears that were welling. One tear escaped and made its way down her cheek, where Booth caught it and wiped it with his thumb.

"Wouldn't you?" He asked her again when she didn't answer.

"Yes I would." Finally she met his eyes. "I would!" She repeated more certain.

"You see, and _that_ is the important thing about a friendship. "

She nodded and before he could muster another thought, she pulled him into a hug.  
"Thank you, Booth."

He could hear her mumbling against his shirt. Soothingly, he padded her back.

"You're welcome, Bones."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-


End file.
